


intervals

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7047670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asriel wants a guitar. It doesn't last very long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	intervals

**Author's Note:**

> I have never so much as held a guitar even once in my entire life, but eris suggested asriel wanting one because he's a nerd and then I blacked out and this happened 
> 
> I tagged this "humour" because it's meant to just be kinda silly, but I dunno how good at comedy I actually am, so I apologize in advance if it's not very funny 
> 
> warnings for brief references to past abuse and c-ptsd. further warnings for asriel's intrusive thoughts and violent tendencies, because I fucking love my angry son from whom flowey was born and whom everyone should acknowledge is probably at least a little bit fucked up

You know that Chara used to take piano lessons, but you also know that Chara used to hate them, even if they still enjoyed the piano itself. They never really talked about what happened – they never really talked about their past at all, in fact. All you ever knew was that sometimes, when the two of you would play together, they would suddenly start crying about having made a mistake, about needing to practice and getting in trouble.

Because of that, you’re more than a little surprised when they start up again under the instruction of Undyne.

“It’s different with Undyne,” Chara reassures you. “It’s fun with her.”

“If you say so,” you reply, admittedly a little doubtfully. You don’t _want_ to be doubtful – if Chara says it’s fun, then it’s fun. But Chara used to be so distressed by playing, even if they couldn’t stop, and you wonder sometimes if it’s really something they should do.  

Then again, their playing with Undyne is different from the way their playing was before. There used to be something unbearably precise about it, even and clean, a tone reflected in their posture - back ramrod straight, lips pursed in concentration, brow gleaming with sweat. Should their fingers ever slip even the slightest bit, they would stop and need a moment to collect themselves, with you letting them stroke your fur until they could relax.

With Undyne, the keys of the piano slam and jangle, music spilling from the instrument like a waterfall. Chara smiles as they play, face flushed with exertion rather than dread as they make the piano sing. The sound is sloppier than it used to be, but it’s also brighter – closer to what you think music _should_ be.

For the first time, you’re beginning to see why Chara returned to the piano time and time again. It had seemed to give them pain before, but you think you realize now just why they needed it so badly, now that you can see the joy the music gave them once upon a time.

So obviously you want in.

“Asriel,” Chara says as kindly as they can the first time you approach them, which admittedly isn’t particularly kind. “Your fingers are too big to be any good on this piano.”

“I _used_ to be able to play with you,” you say, sulking only the tiniest bit.

“Yes, before you transmogrified into the fearsome beast you are today,” Chara agrees, which you think is a bit of a melodramatic way of saying ‘before you grew up’, but you kinda like it, so whatever. “You’ll find that there are _many_ things that you can no longer do at this point in your life. For example, you can no longer wear your baby onesie.”

“I never _had_ a onesie.”

“Okay, fine, then you can no longer run around the house as a buck naked little infant, whatever,” Chara says. They’re running scales as they talk to you, which in your opinion is just showing off – they’re not even looking at the keys, just smiling innocently as their fingers dance.

“Show-off,” you say out loud, because at some point your internal censor broke and you can’t seem to stop yourself from vocalizing irritation these days.

“Aw, feeling insecure?” Chara says, with a tiny smile. They stop playing and take your hands in theirs – your stupid, giant, clumsy monster hands. Hands that mean that you can’t play the piano with Chara anymore, not even though it seems to make them so _happy_ these days. Hands that won’t let you be happy with Chara. Stupid, dumb, _idiotic_ –

As though reading your mind (and your increasingly darkening thoughts), Chara kisses the back of your hand, tugging you against your will back into the present.

“Don’t be so self-conscious about your enormous ungainly paws,” they say, brushing their thumb over your knuckles. “Your great big meaty monstrosities.”

“I am _not_ self-conscious,” you protest, tugging your hands away, and Chara snickers.

“Seriously, Asriel,” they say. "It's no big deal. It’s okay to have stuff that we can’t do together sometimes. You should be _happy_ I’m the musical talent in this relationship. It means that I can serenade you with love songs.”

This makes you perk up a little. “You know love songs?” you ask. It might not be the same as being able to perform romantic duets together, but you quite like the idea of Chara having learned to play them just for you.

Chara smiles. “Of course I do,” they say. Their hands fall upon the keys, and without missing a beat, they begin to sing.

_“We’re no strangers to love…”_

Their voice is a little rough, the tone of one unaccustomed to performing, but they’re smiling at you as they sing, and you think that makes it the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

_“You know the rules, and so do I…”_

You listen in what might be rapture, heart fluttering all the while.

By the time the song is over, you’ve almost forgotten why you even went to speak to Chara in the first place.

Almost. But not quite.

 

 

* * *

 

 

(Frisk tells you later that Chara meant the song as a joke. Even though they explain it to you, you still don’t get what part of it was actually meant to be funny.)

(You decide that there are probably some human things you’ll never understand, but that’s okay. The _important_ thing is that Chara learned a whole new song just so they could play it for you.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

You try to tell yourself that Chara’s right, that it’s okay for them to be the only one who plays an instrument, that you can always listen and content yourself with being in the audience. But you’re still not a part of their new hobby in the way you’d like, and when you find out that Frisk _is,_ that’s when things become unbearable.

You find out accidentally after stumbling across one of their afternoon jam sessions. You’re looking for your pencil crayons and decide to follow the telltale sound of Chara’s keyboard, thinking to ask them if they’ve stolen them again, only to find them holed up in the guest room with Frisk and their kazoo. You end up watching from the corner, Frisk having forbidden you from leaving, but you’re quiet the entire time.

Privately you think that kazoos are not real instruments, that Chara could do better, and that it’s almost definitely not an actual rule that all jam sessions should end with the sharing of jam sandwiches. Still, you keep these thoughts to yourself; you know that neither one of them would care. They’re too busy _having fun_ or whatever, improvising silly tunes and showing off how well they work together. Disgusting.

As you watch them play, the bitter voice inside your head begins to whisper, _this is how things will be from now on._

Now that Chara’s back on the surface where they belong, in a human world full of human songs and human books and every human thing they’d ever missed while Underground, they probably won’t need you anymore. They’ll drift away from you bit by bit, naturally gravitating towards their own kind, forgetting about you more and more, leaving you to wander in a world that’s somehow still too small for you.

You close your eyes. You take a deep breath. You brush those thoughts aside.

None of that is true, you tell yourself. Chara will always be your friend no matter what. You even have your matching lockets to prove it.

It’s not like you’re jealous or anything.

You just think it’s the tiniest bit unfair.

And that’s why you decide to make it _un_ -unfair.

Your dream for years has been to learn how to play the guitar. You’d figured out early on that guitars are the very pinnacle of cool in human society – that much was obvious, given just how cool the people playing them always looked, what with their colorful hair and dangerous-looking piercings and spiky leather clothes. The piano might not be an option for you anymore, but the piano was never your first choice anyway, and if Chara doesn’t mind playing along with Frisk’s kazoo, then surely they’d be okay with your guitar. Right?

So you go to your mother and ask if you can get a guitar.

“No,” she says immediately, not even looking up from her crocheting.

“Why _not?”_

She lifts a hand to adjust her glasses, but you think it’s more so that she can stare at you meaningfully from above the rim than it is to improve her vision.

“Asriel,” she says. “You know that I have always tried to be supportive in your creative pursuits. However, a guitar would be expensive, and you do not have a good history with expensive objects.”

“But _mom –_ “

“That gaming console your father bought you for your birthday,” she interrupts. “If I remember correctly, you became frustrated and destroyed it within a week.”

There’s not really a whole lot you can say to that. But in your defense, the game had been really, _really_ frustrating, and also you’d kind of forgotten that you can’t just blink and undo things anymore. It hadn’t really registered that taking your frustrations out on your electronics would be one of those permanent things until the damage had already been done. But you can’t say that: it would just make your mother all concerned, and you’re not really in the mood for a conversation about feelings today.

You _are_ in the mood for getting a guitar.

“I won’t do that this time,” you say in your very best wheedling tone. “I promise! I’ve learned my lesson, I swear. I know that I need to be more careful with my belongings now.”

Your mother lifts a single eyebrow. “That is not exactly what I was concerned about, but good guess. If you were not my son, I might have believed you,” she says.

You scowl.

“I do not wish to stifle you,” your mother continues, once more lowering her gaze to her crocheting. “But I also do not wish to have to purchase a dozen replacement instruments. If this is something you desire strongly enough, then you must save up your money and purchase one yourself.”

“I understand,” you reply as solemnly as you can.

In another timeline, maybe that would’ve led somewhere. Maybe you would’ve taken on some extra chores around the house in exchange for an allowance increase, and through saving and hard work, you’d learn a Very Important Lesson about appreciating one’s belongings and responsibility and maybe even budgeting or something dumb like that.

In this timeline, you wait until the next weekend that you see your father and say, “Dad, can I get a guitar?”

“Of course, son,” he readily replies, and you smile and hug him and tell him he’s the best dad ever.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes you a while to pick between getting a totally awesome electric guitar and a regular acoustic, but in the end, you go acoustic, because you’re sort of intimidated by all the cords and amplifiers that go with the electric. And besides, in your professional opinion, while electric guitars are definitely cooler, there’s still something beautiful about the polished wood of the acoustic.

You decide that it’s probably better if your mom doesn’t know that your dad bought you a guitar. As a result, you decide to keep it hidden at his house to be safe, which means you have to wait a _loooong_ time after buying it before you can actually play it.

You almost lose it from anticipation in the days between. You already know that you’ll be an instant genius: call it instinct, but you can already tell that when you pick up your instrument for the first time, it’ll be as though Orpheus himself has returned. You’re a prodigy in the making – you’ve just never had the opportunity to prove it. _Until now._

The first weekend that you spend at your father’s after getting the guitar, you intentionally wait until Chara and Frisk have gone to the public library before you try it out. You don’t want to risk them hearing you; you’d rather suddenly surprise them with your inexplicable talent.

Chara gives you a funny look when you decline to accompany them, but you brush it off. You’re too busy imagining what other funny looks they’ll be giving you in the future: looks like _awe_ and _wonder_ and _admiration,_ all of which will more than compensate for the look of baffled irritation that they’re giving you today.

Once they leave, you sit yourself down in front of your mirror, cradling your instrument and doing your very best to imitate the poses you’ve so often seen on CDs. Once you’re satisfied, you let your fingers dance up and down the frets, just to get a feel for it, you know.

You might go _bwa nana na nyaaa_ once under your breath, but that’s just to get it out of your system. It's fine.

As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, you imagine sitting somewhere atmospheric – a park bench, a public fountain, something along those lines – strumming some kind of low, mellow melody. Something that would make people stop and listen and say, “wow, who is that? Surely that can’t be Asriel, the monster prince,” and you would smile mysteriously and continue playing even as you walked away, ever a drifter.

Except for Chara. You wouldn’t walk away from Chara if they came to listen to you. That would just be rude.

You have your phone propped up on the dresser. Once you’re ready, you lean over and press play on the video you have waiting. It’s called _How to Play Guitar for Dummies,_ and you are definitely not a dummy, but it was the first one that popped up on UnderTube when you did a search for guitar lessons, and that obviously means that it’s the best. You’ll settle for nothing but the best.

A wolfman with uncomfortably long hair appears onscreen in a room filled with guitars.

“Okay, lesson one,” he says with no preamble whatsoever, and you instantly perk up. Lesson one today, but you’ll be on lesson infinity in no time at all.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

What the heck is an eighth note.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_One and two and_ …and what the heck is this guy even counting?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Please slow down there are too many strings to keep track of oh my god.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re…you’re curling your fingers the way he’s showing you, but…?

 

 

* * *

 

 

YOUR sTUPID DUMB FINGERS WON’T FIT ON THE IDIOT STRINGS

 

 

* * *

 

 

WHAT EVEN IS THIS, A GUITAR FOR ANTS AND THEIR UGLY LITTLE ANT HANDS?????

 

 

* * *

 

 

FuCK YOU D CHORD FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON

 

 

* * *

 

 

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS WHOLE THING IS REALLY STARTING TO PISS YOU OFF AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

 

* * *

 

 

The guitar breaks.  

You’d rather not go into details.

Your father offers to buy you another one, but you politely decline. You think that you probably need to learn a lesson about responsibility; if this is something you still desire in the future, then you will save your money and purchase one yourself.

“I’m proud of you, Asriel,” your father says, tousling the fur on top of your head. “You’ve become a very sensible young man.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Wanna help me bury a guitar?” you ask Chara when they’ve come back from the library.  

“Is that a new code word for body?” they ask.

“Um, no. An actual guitar. Like – ” and here you pause to adjust your hands as though carrying an instrument, even pausing to pretend to strum a chord or two just for good measure.

(Good _measure._ Heh. And Chara says you’re bad at puns.)

Chara stares at you. They blink once, and then twice.  

“Yeah, okay,” they agree a moment later.

As you’re digging a hole in the garden, Chara pokes at the pile of broken wood with their foot. “Since when did you have a guitar, anyway?” they ask.

“Since about a week ago,” you reply. “But it broke.”

 “Unfortunate.”

An awkward silence falls over the two of you. Despite having agreed to help, Chara makes no move to assist in digging, but that’s okay. You weren’t really expecting them to. You just wanted company, you guess.

“Can I ask why you’re burying it?” they ask.

“Getting it fixed would be expensive and more trouble than it’s worth,” you explain. “And I don’t want mom to know what happened, so I’m hiding the evidence before she can see it.”

“But Asgore knows?”

“Yeah.”

“And _that_ doesn’t matter?”

“No.”

“Well, all right then.”

Once you have a decent-sized hole, Chara dumps the heap of splintered wood into the makeshift grave. Once the instrument is fully buried, they say, “Maybe we should mark it somehow.”

You pause, leaning against your shovel as you consider their suggestion. Finally you say, “No. I’d rather forget.”

Chara giggles at that and flicks your forehead.  “Weirdo,” they say affectionately.

“I’m not a _weirdo,”_ you begin, but Chara cuts you off by saying, “Let’s get ice cream, weirdo.”

Hmm.

It _is_ a little warm outside, and shovelling _is_ pretty tiring work.

Ice cream sounds kinda nice, you decide.

It turns out that Chara doesn’t mean that they want to grab a couple of ice cream sandwiches from the freezer. Instead, they want to walk all the way to that donut shop that sells slushies and soft serve in the summer, where they make you order for them in exchange for being the one to pay.

As you’re walking back with your respective cones, Chara asks, “Why didn’t you tell me that you bought a guitar?”

It takes you a moment to answer, mostly because you’re so distracted by how absolutely covered in chocolate their face has already become. You honestly have no idea how a single person can make such a mess all by themselves.

Once you’re over that, it takes you another thirty seconds or so to muster up the courage to admit, “I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?” Chara asks, crunching the remains of their cone.

Another moment of silence. Fortunately, Chara seems to be feeling unusually patient today, and they say nothing, leaving you to fumble for an explanation that won’t sound completely stupid.

“You’ve…been playing with Frisk a lot,” you say when your voice is finally cooperating. “Music, I mean. Playing music. I think I felt a bit left out, and I…I wanted an instrument of my own? So that I could join you? But I didn’t want you to know until I was good at it, because I wanted to impress you.”

“So why’d you smash it?"

“I got mad,” you answer curtly. “My hands were too big to play it properly, so I guess I can’t play any instruments at all, and you and Frisk will always have this _thing_ that I don’t get to have with you, because the two of you are human and I’m just a giant clumsy monster, and it’s _fine.”_

It’s actually _not_ fine, not even slightly, and you know perfectly well that your voice is so strained that even Chara – who struggles with empathy even at the best of times – can tell.

But you need to _say_ it’s fine, at least. You need to tell yourself that everything’s okay, because if you repeat it often enough, then maybe someday you’ll believe it.

Isn’t that how it works?

But then Chara pauses, and then they turn to look at you, lifting their hands to your cheeks so that they’re cupping your face.

“Asriel,” they say with a gentle smile. “You know that humans come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I _know_ that – “ you begin.

“There are bound to be humans who have trouble with this sort of thing as well,” they continue, ignoring your interruption. “I’m sure there’s plenty of advice out there on how to play with larger hands. Advice that even _you_ can use.”

Silence.

“Oh,” you say at last.

“If that was the only problem, you may have smashed your instrument a little prematurely.”

You close your eyes.

Suddenly, you feel like a colossal idiot, even moreso than you usually do. Judging from how Chara’s lips are twitching, a part of them agrees, even as they stroke your face with unusual tenderness.

“I got _really_ frustrated,” you offer as a feeble explanation, and Chara finally bursts out laughing. 

(You can’t blame them, you guess. If you were in their position, you’d definitely have begun to laugh as well, and it probably would have been a whole lot nastier.)

“You’re the dumbest goat I know,” Chara says affectionately when their laughter finally dies down, and they press a fleeting kiss against your cheek.

“That’s not very nice,” you say, sulking only the teeniest, tiniest bit. It's hard to maintain a sulk when Chara's being so bizarrely sweet with you.

“Eh, whatever,” they answer breezily, finally releasing your face and once more falling into step beside you. “I met my quota of niceness for the day by paying for your ice cream. Now you can use that money to start saving for your next guitar. Frisk and I have been _looking_ for a guitarist, you know.”

_Oh,_ you think.

"Oh," you say out loud. 

Huh.

At some point, Chara’s hand makes its way into yours. It’s a small and perfect thing with long and slender fingers, and once again, you feel something in your chest begin to sink.

But then Chara says, “For the record, I like that you’re a monster, even if we can’t always do things together because of it.”

You say nothing. The sensation of their hand in yours is too distracting for you to be able to puzzle through a statement like that, one that feels as though it means something other than the actual words being spoken aloud, and so you simply nod, hoping that’s enough for them.

“Let’s go home,” they say. “Frisk and I were going to have another jam session this afternoon, and you’re officially invited.”

The rest of the walk is silent.

Upon returning to your father’s house, you obediently follow Chara to the music room – actually a guest bedroom, but it’s where Chara always sets up their keyboard, and so you've begun to think of it as the music room. Frisk waves from where they’re sitting on the bed as though they’ve been expecting you, although you can’t imagine how they could have known that you were coming.

“Give him the thing, Frisk,” Chara commands as they walk over to the keyboard, and Frisk leaps upright and scurries towards you, hand outstretched.

They uncurl their fingers, and there on their palm lies a plastic red kazoo.

“Now you can play too,” Chara declares, hitting the power button on their keyboard. “I’m still going to expect you to get a proper instrument someday, though.”

“Are you sure?” you ask Frisk, unable to mask the uncertainty in your voice. “I mean…what about you?”

But Frisk waves their hand dismissively before somehow producing a second small kazoo from their pocket. You find yourself smiling, and finally, your frustration begins to dissipate.

The three of you spend the rest of the evening playing together. Chara tries out every single voice available on their keyboard before ultimately deciding that the meowing cats are best, Frisk magically produces more than enough jam sandwiches for even _your_ ungodly appetite, and by the time your dad is gently suggesting that you wrap it up for the night, you’ve managed to brainstorm fourteen potential names for your future band.

All in all, you guess it was kind of fun. More fun than sulking in the corner would have been, at any rate.

It’s not exactly how you were expecting things to go, but you go to bed that night feeling like you’ve somehow found your place again.

Privately, you resolve to try and keep your word for once. You’ll save up all your money like you promised, and you’ll get a new guitar and try again, hopefully without losing patience this time. You’ll do it properly, even if it isn’t easy, even if it takes a while, and maybe someday, you’ll be able to accompany Chara’s playing the way you’ve wanted to for years, this time using your own sound instead of borrowing from others.

You think you’d probably like that.

Until then, the remains of your short-lived first guitar will slumber quietly beneath the soil in a grave that only you and Chara know about: a quiet monument to impulsivity.


End file.
